


how to thaw a cold shoulder

by venaa



Category: Monsterkind (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Crying, Depression, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, light fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 16:09:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9079906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venaa/pseuds/venaa
Summary: A brief look into the evolution of Kip and Wallace's relationship. Seriousness, friendship, and maybe something more.





	

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by/based off of ummmwine's awesome monsterkind art (this comic specifically http://ummmwine.tumblr.com/post/151949937796/its-ok-coz-you-can-just-kill-him-later) 
> 
> possible warnings: mentions of depression and a breakdown

Kip and Wallace became good friends.

But was by no means a quick process. From the moment Kip became aware of Wallace’s existence, Kip was suspicious of the man, even if it was only due to his human nature. Kip refused to even talk to him at first, but after some convincing from his friends and landlord, he initiated a rocky relationship between the two of them.

Many of their difficulties stemmed from Kip’s unfortunate past and personal issues, though Wallace’s awkwardness didn’t help matters. At least they had crossing interests. A perhaps overzealous social worker and a civil rights advocate both possessed similar passions, if opposite dispositions. In fact, it was that whole civil rights business that brought them together in the first place. Their meeting and relationship had been born partly out of necessity for Wallace’s safety and partly as a service to the general public. Now, their relationship had moved onto not only social motivations but personal ones as well, growing into a tentative friendship. 

After that first co-venture where they ran into Maggie, Kip and Wallace’s meetings became somewhat routine. Kip went over to Wallace’s room for an hour or so on free afternoons to discuss cases and update each other on their progress. Occasionally, Wallace wrote reports at Cuddy’s while Kate and Molly jokingly threatened to kick him out if he didn’t buy anything (it took about a week for him to realize they were only teasing).

Kip began to come over without prompting; after a few cursory knocks, he’d walk right in (after Wallace unlocked the door, because of course he never kept it unlocked) and rifle through Wallace’s workbag while he made himself comfortable on the couch. Wallace prepared tea and coffee, and they’d sit and work. They mostly talked about work, but sometimes they talked about things that weren’t work: Molly’s new poster designs, some weird TV commercials, the best restaurants in town. They were always light, impersonal subjects, yet they made the atmosphere more comfortable.

Then Kip began to come over in the mornings, too. Sometimes Wallace answered the door quickly, dressed and groomed appropriately, but mostly he answered the door in shorts and a t-shirt, wet hair dripping down his neck. Once or twice he answered the door with obviously sleep-mussed hair, wearing a t-shirt and boxers. Kip’s responses towards these appearances were cool smirks and often consisted something along the lines of “did I wake you?” Wallace always blushed and scrubbed at his face while he invited Kip in.

Once, he answered the door clutching a towel to his waist while the muffled sound of a running shower drifted behind him. “Sorry! This was just bad timing,” he apologized, dripping all over the floor. “I’ll be out in a minute, but in the meantime, feel free to get comfortable.” And he hurried back to the bathroom, oblivious to Kip’s clenched jaw and darkening cheeks.

Eventually, there came a point when Kip came over to work, and they ended up hanging out instead. They sat on the couch and chatted while papers lay strewn about them. It was fun, and it was easy.

These instances increased the more time went on. Kip occasionally appeared at Wallace’s door; sometimes they talked, and sometimes they both attended to their own business, but they mostly just kept each other company.

Molly, Roy, Kip, and Wallace often hung out in the form of an outing or some sort of game or movie night. Once, they made the mistake of watching a horror movie, and to no one’s surprise, Kip and Molly were the only ones who could handle it.

All four of them sat squished onto Wallace’s couch (since the others hadn’t gotten around to buying a TV yet). Molly had practically migrated to Roy’s lap, since Roy had been clutching her midsection and burying his head in her shoulder since the movie started. Wallace sat at the end of the couch, beside Kip, trying his very hardest not to jump at every mildly startling thing in the movie. Molly and Kip constantly complained about the cheap jump-scares and cheesy effects, and Wallace laughed along nervously. During the darkest parts of the movie, however, he couldn’t help but twitch and cringe, avoiding the others’ gazes as he did so for fear of the teasing that would most certainly befall him.

The movie proved to grow more intriguing with time, and soon Molly and Kip had silenced their criticism, watching with a vested interest. Wallace was gratified to feel Kip flinch beside him once or twice from a jump-scare, though he was sure Kip wasn’t as sweaty and weak-kneed from the movie as he was.

Then, during an especially heart-stopping scene, Wallace actually yelped aloud. Fortunately, Roy also let out a frightened cry that covered his noise, or he probably would have died of embarrassment. At the same time he yelped, his hand instinctively instilled a death grip on the nearest object, which happened to be the hem of Kip’s shorts.

That was another thing Wallace could be mortified about, if not for the fact that Kip’s instincts were apparently similar to Wallace’s—almost immediately upon witnessing the heart-stopping scene, Kip gasped and clapped a hand over Wallace’s wrist, holding tightly.

When the adrenaline haze cleared, and both men had gotten past the blood roaring in their ears, they realized that they were practically holding hands. They weren’t holding hands all the way, but this was as close as _almost holding hands_ got.

Kip realized first, and he immediately blushed but otherwise didn’t react. The contact was comforting in this stressful time, and besides that, it was kind of nice (and a little sweaty, but that wasn’t important). Wallace realized some time later and reacted similarly. Neither men moved away from each other; rather, they both relaxed their grips by unspoken agreement and slid their hands into a more comfortable arrangement.

Their fingers stayed interlaced for through the movie. Neither commented on it, nor how they relaxed into each other for comfort, but smiles they traded after the movie were a little shyer and more self-conscious than usual.

Casual touch between the two became more commonplace. Out of their friend group, Molly and Roy were pros at casual affection, so sharing hugs and personal space with them was easy. Doing the same with Kip was a more trying feat.

Wallace agonized over every small gesture. Was it appropriate to put a hand on Kip’s shoulder in greeting? If so, how long should it stay there? Would it be weird if their shoulders touched when they sat next to each other? They’d held hands once before, but would they ever do it again?

This thorough deliberation soon proved to be unnecessary when Wallace found they traded casual touches nearly as often as they traded words. Knocking knees under a table, touching elbows, and comforting shoulder pats all came easily and comfortably. Occasionally they’d brush against each other when both going in the same direction, or both grabbing the same object, and then they’d both stop to let the touch linger. Maybe that part was just Wallace’s imagination, but during those times, Molly also waggled her eyebrows at them; so then again, maybe he was onto something.

Their friendship had safely graduated from “very friendly acquaintances” to “high tier buddies.” They no longer met up only for work and discussed more personal topics, like what work had been like for Wallace before transfer and why Kip’s shared apartment was so sparsely furnished.

When they worked now, it was mostly during nights. They stayed up together as late as one in the morning, sometimes working together, sometimes working apart. They often spent nights in opposite corners of the living room. Wallace scribbled notes and Kip tapped away at his blog.

One night, they were working as usual when Wallace noticed that the clicking sounds of the keyboard had faded away. He glanced upward in a curious pause and saw that Kip had dozed off. He was slumped against the end of the couch with his chin tucked against his chest, laptop half open and throwing a pale glow across his slack expression.

Wallace spared him a few tired smiles. He ought to have woken Kip up; his watch said that midnight was approaching, which meant they’d been at this for almost three hours now. But he had a few things he wanted to finish first, so he decided he’d give Kip a little rest before waking him up to retire for good.

Wallace stood, stretching and sighing at the pops that traveled along his spine. He padded silently to the couch (wearing socks but no shoes), pushed the laptop closed with a soft _click_ , and sank into the empty spot at the end of the couch. He read through his files and jotted down notes, watching as Kip’s position slowly became more horizontal over the course of an hour, until he was curled up and hugging his laptop to his chest. Wallace carefully reached over and slid Kip’s glasses off of his nose, setting it on the coffee table atop a pile of paperwork.

He paused to stare. Kip’s face was more serene than Wallace had ever seen it. When he was asleep, his expression lacked the frequent weariness Wallace noticed he kept about him during the day. At any given moment, Kip could be slumped under some unseen anxieties, but that all slipped away under the comfort of sleep. It eased the lines of worry around his face and made him appear infinitely more relaxed.

Wallace smiled to himself. He shuffled papers around his lap, his periodic yawns growing more frequent. It was about time to wrap this up so Kip could get back to his own room and he could get some sleep. But he wanted to get through a few more papers, first. Just for a few more minutes. A few minutes, he thought, striking a deal with himself.

His sleepy thoughts didn’t want to pull themselves together for that long, however. They slid and stumbled past each other, either unwilling or unable to latch onto anything solid. He’d been reading the same paragraph now for the past five minutes, but the words were blurring into something incomprehensible. Too tired, he thought. Too tired to concentrate. He’d better get up and wake his partner.

A whining noise snapped him out of the daze. Wallace jerked in his seat and blinked dumbly. Oh, he’d dozed off too.

Another whining noise. No, more like whimpering, or at least a low sort of pleading. Wallace looked around for the source of the noise, rubbing at one eye, and stopped on Kip’s scrunched face.

“N-No,” Kip muttered, twisting back and forth on the couch. Wallace observed him sluggishly with equal parts curiosity and concern. Kip’s face had lost all calmness. Instead, it had hardened into a frown, and his forehead was gathering sweat.

Wallace frowned as Kip’s tossing and turning became worse. He muttered incomprehensibly to himself for a long minute, the laptop still clutched securely in one arm. Then he suddenly curled his body inward in what appeared to be a painfully fast motion, whimpering clearly, “Wait. Please.”

The tone was so clearly terrified that it tugged at Wallace’s heart. “Kip,” he rasped.

“Wait. No. No, please.” Kip’s chant grew more urgent every second. His head whipped back and forth, jaw clenched.

“Kip, wake up,” Wallace said worriedly again, louder this time. One of his hands hovered in the air uncertainly. Was this a night terror? Were you supposed to wake people up from night terrors? He’d read somewhere that people who had physical reactions to night terrors, like screaming or convulsing, were supposed to be left to “ride it out” so they wouldn’t hurt themselves or others, but this didn’t seem like a night terror. Either way, Kip was definitely not having a pleasant time, and Wallace hated to see him suffer through what was obviously a nasty nightmare.

The choice of whether or not to wake Kip up was ultimately decided for him. As Kip writhed, the laptop steadily slipped off of his chest until it fell to the floor with a loud _thud_ that echoed in the quietness of the room.

Kip cried out and bolted upright, one arm outstretched. His eyes, wide and terrified, jumped around the room, and he gasped out heavy breaths.

“Kip! Kip, it’s okay, it was just a dream,” Wallace was quick to soothe. He hastily scooted closer, ignoring the papers that slipped off his lap and onto the floor. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Kip reached out and gripped the front of Wallace’s rumpled button-down; instinctively, Wallace dropped a hand over the grip and clasped his arm, trying to convey reassurance.

Kip gulped in air, halfway crumpling onto his shoulder. Wallace used every ounce of willpower he possessed not to flinch away from Kip’s icy forehead where it pressed against his collarbone. _God, that’s freezing!_

“It’s okay,” Wallace repeated, a shaky exhale belying his calm words. “In, and out. That’s it.”

Kip’s breath slipped into a deep, anxious rhythm. Wallace matched his sway with every breath, worriedly running his thumb over the back of Kip’s hand.

A minute passed and Kip’s fist loosened off of his shirt. He leaned back, looking tired, as Wallace plucked his glasses off the table and held them out. Kip stood up before he had even put them on, mumbled something about the bathroom, and exited the room hastily.

Wallace watched him go, a frown eating at the edge of his expression. He sighed and gathered his spilled paperwork and Kip’s laptop, then he began brewing tea. He didn’t care for it, but Kip had said sometime that it calmed him.

Kip returned five minutes later with more color in his face. It seemed like the dark rings under his eyes were more defined as well. Wallace handed him a cup of tea, which he took gracefully, settling back onto the now-bare couch. “I wasn’t too loud, was I?” he mumbled into the steam.

“Not loud.” Wallace confirmed with a shake of his head. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Kip said without a waver in his voice.

“Are you feeling any better than, uh, before?”

“I am; thank you,” Kip said sincerely. He inhaled and gave an appreciative sigh before sipping from his cup. When he pulled it away, he realized that Wallace’s concerned look hadn’t declined in the slightest.

“Honestly, Wallace,” he grumbled into his tea, “don’t look at me like that. It’s not the first time I’ve had a nightmare. I’m sorry you had to see it, though.”

Wallace made a noncommittal noise. “Does that happen often?” he asked softly.

Kip stared down at his drink. “Unfortunately, though they’re usually a bit more mild than this.” He made a face at dark liquid, trying to play the situation off casually. After what was probably a vulnerable display of his near-nightly issues, Kip was embarrassed to say the least. “Don’t worry about it. It just happens sometimes.”

Wallace scooted closer to him. “I’m sorry.”

Kip noticed his own hands were trembling slightly. He rested his arms and cup on his lap. Wallace put a hand on Kip’s forearm, his thumb stroking the underside in a comforting gesture.

Kip shrugged in response to the apology. It wasn’t Wallace’s fault.

“Do you want to talk about it at all?”

“N… Not really.” Suddenly feeling very tired, he cupped his hand over his mouth to cover a yawn.

“I’ll walk you back to your room,” Wallace offered immediately.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I _want_ to.”

Wallace’s words trickled through him like the warmth of tea. Kip found himself unable to look at Wallace, a flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. He nodded abashedly.

When they reached the door to the room, Kip unlocked and eased the door open carefully, so as not to wake Molly and Roy. It was somewhere near 2am.

“And hey, um, if you ever do want to talk about your nightmares, or anything else for that matter—like, um,” Wallace whispered haltingly, “I don’t know, anything… I’m open. Just… if you want.”

Weeks ago, Kip would have scoffed and told him to mind his own business. Now, he reached forward and squeezed the other man’s hand. “Goodnight, Wallace,” he whispered.

“Goodnight, Kip.”

The next day they talked about Kip’s depression.

“I do consider myself very lucky, though,” Kip said softly. “Looking at all the people in your case files reminds me of that…You never know what troubles people are hiding.”

Wallace frowned a little as he watched Kip. They were sitting on his sofa like usual, an unfinished bowl of popcorn on the coffee table in front of them. A sci-fi movie played on in the background, but neither of them had noticed it for more than five minutes. “That’s true. I don’t know how you’d feel lucky to have depression, though.”

“I don’t exactly feel lucky to have it,” Kip pointed out, seeing Wallace’s expression, “I just feel lucky it’s not worse.”

“But Kip, your feelings are valid—” Wallace began in that concerned let’s-talk-about-your-problems voice that always made Kip want to barf.

“Whoa, Wallace, we are not having that discussion right now,” Kip cut him off instantly, waving a hand. “I never said that they weren’t. I know my feelings and problems are valid—” _most of the time_ , he added mentally, “—but I’m allowed to be grateful it isn’t worse. 

Wallace stopped and closed his mouth, digesting Kip’s words. “Oh—yeah, you’re right. Okay,” he said in a satisfied way.

“It did get really bad for a while…” Kip seemed to be talking to himself. He was staring down at his hands when he spoke. “I felt really guilty because it made it harder for my friends to be around me. They said it was okay, but I know they just didn’t want to make me feel worse.” He heaved a sigh. “I’m… pretty okay these days, but I’m also kind of afraid it’ll happen again.”

“How did you know?”

Kip glanced up at Wallace. “What?”

“How did you know that they were lying when they said it was okay?” Wallace asked, intensely staring Kip in the eyes.

Recognition flickered in Kip’s eyes and turned to some melancholy emotion. “It was a hard time for everyone. Me moping around couldn’t have possibly made anything more okay,” he said with a bitter smile.

“Don’t say it like that,” Wallace said, aghast. “You weren’t just moping. You were _depressed_.”

“Depressed people can mope, Wallace.” Kip rolled his eyes irritably. “That’s all I did when we moved. Everyone was upset over what already happened, and I just dragged everybody d—”

“What already happened?” Wallace interrupted. “What do you mean by that?”

Kip blinked a few times. In a moment, his entire expression became more solemn and uncomfortable. “Something bad happened. I don’t like to talk about it,” he said tersely.

“You don’t like to talk about much.”

Kip’s eyebrows arched up. “Wow, I wonder why I wouldn’t want to talk about the event that took away my family and worsened my depression. Let me think about that one!”

Wallace threw his hands up in exasperation, although he was surprised more than anything. He’d known none of Kip’s immediate family was alive and had intimated that something had happened to them, but Kip had never actually brought it up in conversation before. Even though he and Wallace had become close friends, Wallace was still hesitant to reopen the wound that was obviously still incredibly sensitive, and Kip never volunteered information about it himself. Wallace always had to coax information out of him, and this was no different.

“All I’m saying is that keeping everything bottled up won’t help you,” Wallace insisted 

“I’m not stupid,” Kip exclaimed, and Wallace could see that he was becoming truly frustrated. “Jeez, do you think I’m new to this whole depression and trauma thing? I have people I can talk to, including an actual _therapist_. You know that.”

“I never said you were stupid! You—you just keep so much to yourself sometimes that I get worried—”

“I told you I prefer not to talk about it. That doesn’t mean I’m keeping it bottled up,” Kip said, folding his arms.

“You are. You’ve never mentioned it to me once before now,” Wallace pointed out gesturing helplessly with one arm. “You’ve never told me what happened to your family. 

Kip’s jaw twitched, visibly clenching and unclenching, though his mouth remained closed. “I don’t have to talk to _you_ about it.”

Wallace ignored the hot flash of hurt. “How can you expect your problems to get better if you keep avoiding them?” he demanded.

“You don’t know anything about my problems,” Kip began, but Wallace interrupted him.

“That’s because you don’t tell me anything about them!”

“Maybe I don’t want to,” Kip snapped, leaning forward so his nose was inches from Wallace’s. “Have you ever thought about that? Maybe I don’t want to talk to you about depression or loss because you can’t possibly understand what me or my friends have been through.”

Wallace swayed backwards against the arm of the couch, gaping. “Kip—”

“This is why people won’t open their doors to you,” he continued, pressing forward with a sneer. Now he leant over Wallace’s chest, propping himself up with an elbow dug into the side of the couch, while Wallace stared back at him with wide eyes. “You think you understand, or you think you’re helping, but in reality you can barely do your own job. You live in your own little world of ‘ _maybe if I smile at them and try my very hardest, everything will be okay!”_ but that’s not how it works, so stop trying to be my therapist and just _mind your own business_.”

He spat out the last words, heaving above Wallace for two seconds, before he whirled off the couch and stormed out to the balcony. The night air was cool and greeted him crisply, but it didn’t make him feel any better. His stomach was doing barrel rolls as he thought about what he’d said. He hadn’t really wanted to say it, but it needed to be said. Wallace needed a shock to reality sooner or later; he would have to accept that improving people’s lives was more difficult than he seemed to realize.

And Kip… Kip didn’t need that kind of intervention in his life, no matter how shaky he would get sometimes. Sometimes he was okay, and sometimes he wasn’t, but the important thing was that he could handle the not okay parts.

_You keep so many things to yourself that I get worried  
_

It wasn’t really Wallace’s place to worry. They’d only known each other for barely a few months, and Kip had a right to his own privacy.

But did that really matter? Wallace definitely didn’t have to worry; yet he did. Even if his concern could be a bit misguided or naïve, the concern still existed, because they were friends.

The more Kip thought about the situation, the lousier he felt, until he was dragging his hands over his face in despair. What was wrong with him? Wallace was only trying to help. That was all he’d ever been doing. He’d made all the effort to help and understand, while Kip had continually pushed him away.

Wallace, for his part, remained motionless on the couch. His defensiveness abandoned him, leaving him only with a heavy feeling of resignation in his stomach. He’d never realized how much of that was true. Maybe Kip had exaggerated it a little, but he’d hit the bullseye right in the center. He had nailed it. There was no other way to put it: Wallace was a wash-out.

He slumped forward, all his energy leaving in an instant. “God…” he exhaled into his hands as he dragged them over his face. It was no wonder nobody wanted to talk to him. Nobody wanted to face a happy-go-lucky attitude in their own states of crisis. Even though he hadn’t intended it to be, his attitude was just a cruel gesture of showboating. Hello, I am your high-status and privileged service worker, and I have just learned the meaning of ‘woe.’

_You’re a symbol of what people hate. Of what they don’t have._

That wasn’t his fault. District A was where he was from, and there was no changing that; it just wasn’t an option. So what could he do? He couldn’t change who he was or where he came from.

 _Stop_ , Wallace told himself, pressing the butts of his palms into his closed eyes. Enough whining. Those people couldn’t be blamed for disliking him. He removed his hands from his eyes, blinking to clear his vision. He couldn’t help who he was, so he’d just have to forget about that. He needed to concentrate on how to help people instead.

Wallace straightened up and looked towards the balcony door, which hung slightly ajar.

In a moment he’d stood up and made his way towards the door. He hesitated, hand hovering in the air, hair ruffled by the breeze that made its way through. He didn’t know what to say to Kip. One misstep, and he’d bungle everything again.

Wallace physically shook his head a little as if he could throw off the buzzing thoughts. He was overanalyzing this. Nothing good ever came from running his mouth when he was nervous, so he’d do simple and safe. He would just apologize.

Without giving doubt the chance to replant itself, Wallace pushed the door open a little more with his hand and took a step outside. “Kip, I’m—”

He stopped abruptly when he saw the hunched form of his companion. That… was not the appearance of someone who had just stormed away from him in fury.

His stomach proceeded to begin tying itself in knots. “Kip?” he questioned quietly, once he deemed it was safe to do so, and stepped up beside the monster.

Kip was leaning heavily against the railing and staring off into the opposite direction. Wallace could barely see his expression, but it was presumably as somber as his slumped position.

Kip felt Wallace’s presence beside him even though he refused to look over. Guilt and sadness had embedded itself deep in his chest. He was terrible at this friend thing, wasn’t he? “Wallace,” he began, his tone wavering in just the slightest way he hated himself for,   
“I-I didn’t mean…” He didn’t know how to continue. He could feel the tightness in his chest pushing its way up, closing around his throat.

When Kip trailed off, and several seconds of silence stretched between them, Wallace took up the train of thought, hoping he wasn’t misunderstanding anything. “It’s okay,” he said softly, “I was probing. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” 

Silence again. Kip wouldn’t look at him. Wallace tried not to get too caught up in his own feelings as he stared out at the city lights, the unfamiliarity of it all clutching at his heart.

He pushed the usual feelings of loneliness away. Something was obviously going on with Kip right now, so there was no time to wallow in any of his own problems. 

“What happened with my family,” Kip began, each word more uneven than the last. “It wasn’t… I didn’t even—”

His voice cracked. Horrified, he instantly ducked his head down and away from Wallace’s view. _Do not start crying_ , he commanded himself, despite the fact that tears had already invaded the corners of his eyes. _Do not cry. Do not._

But it was useless. Every forceful thump of his heart teased him, and in no time, the tears had overflowed and dripped down his cheeks.

Wallace couldn’t see the tears themselves, but the sudden break in tone and the way Kip hid his face was enough to clue him into what was happening. And then Kip’s breaths began to stutter, and his shoulders shook.

Wallace’s heart fluttered with panic. God, what had he done? “A-Are you—” he tried to ask.

“No,” Kip gasped out before Wallace could even fully form the question.

The embarrassment at being called out was so overpowering that the tears on his face turned to icicles with a quiet _click._ Kip stiffened, startled enough that he forgot to hide his face for a moment, and accidentally made eye contact with Wallace’s unbridled concern.

He looked away fast, face burning despite the presence of ice on his cheeks. Well, wasn’t _that_ just the icing on the cake. He not only had to make a fool out of himself by bursting into tears, but now it was icicles. _Did I mention that I make icicles when my emotions get out of control? Neat, isn’t it?_

Had he really made so little progress? When he’d first been diagnosed with depression, the intense feelings were often too much for him to handle without some sort of emotional reaction, like crying or yelling. It was understandable to have bad days from time to time, but he thought he was finished with these outbursts.

A heavy sigh escaped him as his shoulders hunched farther up to his ears. “Don’t worry,” he said bitterly, staring downward while tears continued to drip down his face, “this is mostly reflexive.”

A hand fell onto his shoulder. Kip looked over, eyes widening when he discovered that Wallace had put an arm around his shoulders.

He looked away from Wallace before they could make eye contact again, feeling the tears flow faster. More of them turned to ice, hanging in sharp points beneath his chin, while his breathing grew more shallow and choppy.

This was getting out of control, Kip thought somewhere in the back of his mind. He was trembling under Wallace’s arm, the gesture having only made him more emotional. “I—I-I’m—"

A harsh shudder ripped its way through his body. He gave a loud sniff, desperately trying to control himself, but it was no use. The tears dripped and hardened into ice all over his cheeks; despite wiping them away over and over, there was always more. Trying to hold back the mix of emotions in his chest was painful. It was just too much. 

Then Wallace gently turned Kip and pulled him close. Kip blinked rapidly, unmoving as Wallace leaned in, pressing the side of his face into Kip’s hair. It wasn’t quite a kiss, but it was intimate nonetheless.

Wallace moved his arms around and hugged Kip to his chest.

Kip’s resolve melted like ice on hot pavement. A sob bubbled up from his throat as Wallace tightened his grip, securely locking Kip within the embrace.

Kip buried his face in Wallace’s shoulder and cried. His shaking hands came to clutch at the soft, thin fabric of Wallace’s shirt. It was becoming somewhat of a habit.

While Wallace had watched Kip’s slow meltdown, he wracked his mind for something to say. Some time had passed before he realized that there wasn’t anything he could say. He could only watch and then hold him close and hope it would be enough.

When the sound of Kip’s crying was no longer loud and obvious, Wallace spoke. “I’m not mad about what you said,” he murmured, as if he could read Kip’s mind. “You were at least partly right. B-But… Even if I don’t understand, I can’t stop trying.”

Was he referring to helping people in general, or was that statement directly attributed to him? It didn’t really matter, that much, Kip supposed.

Eventually his breathing evened out. His hands were cramped from clenching fists into Wallace’s shirt, and his throat hurt, but he felt a little better. It felt like he’d been able to cry out all the aches in his chest.

It was another long moment before he pulled away, cringing slightly as he did so. “Sorry—” he croaked before clearing his throat, “—Sorry about your shirt.” Between the combination of tears and melting ice, the fabric on Wallace’s shoulder had quit literally gotten soaked.

Wallace’s eyes flitted down to his shoulder as if this were a surprise. “Oh,” he said, pinching the fabric between two fingers, and for a second Kip felt nauseous waiting for the disgust to show on his face, but instead Wallace just smiled tiredly. “It’s fine. I’ll just change.”

Relief coursed through him.

“This… seems kind of a silly question, but are you okay? I mean—no, never mind, it’s stupid.” Wallace immediately backtracked on the question, visibly flustered. “I know people cry for different reasons, and I-I just, what I mean is—”

“Wallace.” Kip cut him off by reaching out and squeezing his forearm. “It helped. You—thank you,” he said quietly.

Wallace relaxed a little, offering Kip a nervous smile. Kip returned it and tiredly scrubbed at his face. “Sorry for the outburst,” he said, laughing humorlessly. 

To Kip’s surprise, Wallace jolted forward insistently and gripped his forearm. “You don’t have to be sorry, Kip,” he said, and his tone was fiery, unlike the soft conversation they’d just shared. It was more… passionate. “You don’t ever have to be sorry! I want you to cry—” Wallace furiously shook his head in opposition of his own words, “—I mean, I don’t want you to cry, but I want you to _be able_ to cry. I want you to be able to confide in me and do this—if you need to. I… I like that you confide in me. I want to be there for you…” Wallace trailed off, having lost his initial confidence, and went pink. He was slightly uncertain, but he never stopped looking Kip in the eyes.

Kip stared back at him. A mixture of emotions ran through him: shock, skepticism, and an unidentifiable warmth. He didn’t know which one to give in to… Wallace was just unbelievable. He never knew when to quit.

Kip broke out in genuine laughter while Wallace turned confused. Kip put a hand on Wallace’s shoulder, grinning widely at him. He was so incredibly naïve and stubborn.

“Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?” Kip asked, drawing him closer until their noses were mere inches from each other.

“I, uh, um,” Wallace spluttered, startled at the sudden closeness. He blushed harder, but recovered quickly, his lips stretching into a good-natured smile. “I have… heard that before. Yes.” 

“So stop talking so much,” Kip said, leaning in. Both he and Wallace closed their eyes as he brushed their lips together in a chaste kiss. 

Wallace made a soft sound that almost made Kip rethink pulling away. But it was late, and his head ached, and he could see that the wet patch on Wallace’s shoulder was making the other man tremble a little with cold.                                        

“You should get changed,” Kip said quietly, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

Wallace blinked as if exiting a trance. One hand drifted upward to absently tug at the sopping fabric. “After that, could we restart the movie?” he asked hopefully.

Kip shrugged. “If you don’t mind me sleeping through most of it.” He wasn’t quite ready to his own room quite yet, but there was no doubt he’d be unable to stay awake for two more hours.

“I’ll restart it from the beginning,” Wallace said cheerily.

“Sure.”

Kip yawned, resolving to find some of Wallace’s aspirin before he fell asleep. Wallace hesitated only a second before looping an arm around Kip’s waist, and Kip pressed wearily against him as they went back inside together.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative title: I Simultaneously Want Kip to Cry and Be Happy
> 
> thank you for reading


End file.
